


Let the Sirens Sing Me Sleep

by Midnight Wolf (Larkawolfgirl)



Series: Dare to Write Challenge [20]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkawolfgirl/pseuds/Midnight%20Wolf
Summary: Noctis Lucis Caelum is tired. He’s always tired. There is a reason he enjoys sleeping so much. Sleep is the only time he can ever truly be free from the weight resting on his shoulders.





	Let the Sirens Sing Me Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> For the Dare to Write Challenge prompt: Papercuts
> 
> Everyone headcanons Prompto having panic attacks, but Noctis has just as much right to them

Noctis Lucis Caelum is tired. He’s always tired. There is a reason he enjoys sleeping so much. Sleep is the only time he can ever truly be free from the weight resting on his shoulders. When he is asleep, his mind can let go of everything. He can forget that he hardly ever sees his dad. That the king is dying. That war is on the threshold. That everyone in his life is there because of duty, because of necessity. That his entire life is monitored. That no one outside of the Citadel can be fully trusted. That when he thinks too hard the panic attack is crippling in a way his wheelchair never was. 

The prince is tired. Ever since the maralith attack, his body has been weaker and more prone to pain. Curling up in bed is safe and a comfort when no one else can give him any. 

Not that Ignis does not try. But there is only so much he can do and only so much Noct is willing to ask of the advisor who already gives so much of himself. What Noctis really wants is his mother back. Unlike his dad, she always had time to snuggle with him on the bed. She would wrap him up in her gentle arms and sing to him so that all he could focus on was her.

But his mother is no longer here, and lullabies are not a luxury for an aging prince, even if Ignis would be willing to indulge him. And so Noctis takes his comforts where he can.

 

Noctis Lucis Caelum is lethargic. He wears himself thin by day and passes out by night. Even in sleep, he can no longer forget. Nightmares plague him like a sickness. The king is gone, and his dad will never be there to comfort him ever again. No longer a prince, the weight is crushing, to the point that every step takes that much more effort. He’s so tired, so overwhelmed. Each day it only grows worse. 

It was raining when he heard the news. Thankful, for the rain hid his tears from his friends. The thunder hid his gasps as the grief choked him. He chose to sleep on the edge of the tent that night so that only Ignis was close enough to feel his trembling. It was not a surprise when he awoke wrapped in his arms, or when Ignis rose and made no mention of what had caused the cuddle session. Ignis was always kind like that.

 

Gladio has a new scar. Not uncommon, but this one is  _ large _ and too close for comfort. The cut runs diagonal all the way across his chest, straight over his heart. Noct’s own clenches painfully tight. 

“You asshole,” he chokes out, a mixture of anger and dread. 

Gladio glares at him, arms crossing. “Really? You’re gonna give him the third degree? I did this for you, ya know?”

Noct balls his fists and sucks in a deep breath, as hard as it is. His thoughts are circling in that way Prom says his always do. It’s the slippery slope, Ignis calls it. One thought leads to another, one bad outcome jumping to the next. “You could have died!” he shouts.

“Now listen here,” Gladio snarls, face hard. 

He sees Gladio stumbling in agony, the cut in his chest running deep. Blood dripping and dripping, thick and dark. Gladio crying out as deamons swarm on him in his weakened state. He tries to whirl on them but his footing falters on the wetness of his own blood and he misses. They cut into him again. And again. His chest is still bleeding, even more now. A birdlike deamon grips at his chest with talons sharp as needles and rips, until flesh and what lies beneath comes spewing out. 

He chest hurts, as if he’s suffering the imaginary injury, and he clenches a fist there as he sucks in shallow breaths. 

“Gods, damn it.” Suddenly, Gladio’s anger softens at the edges and his hands grip at his shoulders. “Noct, calm down. I’m fine. I’m right here.”

He can hear his voice, but it’s muffled as if it were coming from under water. He can see him there, whole and safe, but it’s overlaid by the image of his body being devoured by a horde of deamons.

“Noct!” 

He blinks, chest sucking in large gasps of air, as strong arms squeeze at him. His hands come up to Gladio’s back and his head nestles into his neck. He wants to cry but he won’t let himself, not in front of Gladio. He allows himself to stay as he is for only as long as it takes to stop trembling and his breaths to come normally again.

When he does move out of the embrace, he glares at his shield. “Don’t you ever do something so stupid ever again.” Gladio opens his mouth in protest. “That’s an order.”

His shield grinds his teeth and bows his head. “I swear it.”

 

Noctis Lucis Caelum is numb. Everything has gone to shit and he is as good as powerless. Thinking only makes him feel like shit, so he does everything he can not to. He sits in his seat on the train refusing to move a muscle. He’s too tired to move anyway. He stares unseeing at Ignis and Prompto across from him. Prompto fuses over Ignis constantly, but Noct remains unaffected by it. Even the dull stab of pain from his grip on the ring of the Lucii eludes him. There is only sleep and detached sitting. That is until Gladio finally snaps. The shield’s hand is big and strong as it tugs on his shirt collar. 

“You seriously just gonna sit there and pretend everything is fine?”

It takes a while for the words to process. When they do, despite his intentions, he slides down the slope. Nothing is fine. Insomnia is destroyed. He is supposed to be a king. Luna lies beneath the waves. Ignis will never see again. The weight is crushing, crushing at his chest, at his lungs. He can’t breathe. 

Gladio shakes him and Noctis thinks his ribs rattle. He lets himself be shaken, tries to become numb again. Perhaps then he can find his breath again. 

“Look at me!” Gladio demands. 

He is in his face now. He looks so angry Noctis could cry. It’s so hard not to, now that he isn’t numb. He curls down on himself as much as he can with Gladio there in his space. 

“If you can’t look at me, then look at Iggy. You think this is hard on you? Think about what he’s going through.”

Noctis doesn’t know what he means. He is looking at Gladio. There is the sound of a seat cushion which must be Ignis rising. 

“Gladio, stop this. It was not his fault, and you know.”

“So, what? We let our  _ king  _ avoid his problems? That ain’t helping anyone, and you know it.”

Prompto’s the one to protest this time. “Stop being a dick! It’s a defense mechanism. You say he won’t look at you, but do you even see the state he’s in? Look at his eyes.”

Gladio must, because his face falls, hold loosening. “Shit.”

Noct still hasn’t processed this all yet. His mind is too busy remembering Luna and Ignis bleeding on the cobblestones and seeing Ardyn’s cackling face from atop  _ his _ throne. He’s pulled forward, and suddenly, strong arms are around him. The thoughts are still there, but he feels warm and safe.

A hand strokes through his hair like his mother used to. “Noct, shit, I’m sorry. Breathe, just breathe.”

He does. In and out until his chest feels less hollow. Until it feels like he has lungs again. It takes much longer for the thoughts to pause. When they do he finally realizes it is Gladio, who was so pissed at him, that is holding him so protectively now. 

“Sorry,” he finally says.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” says Ignis.

“Yeah, buddy. You don't have to shoulder this all alone, ya know.”

The words make him lighter, but it's Gladio he wants to hear from. 

“Fuck, Noct.” He hasn't let go. He's holding on tighter now, actually. “I'm the one that should be apologizing. I went off to prove myself as your shield but then I went and failed. They're right, this is my burden as well, and I've done a piss poor job. Here you were suffocating in it and all I did was push you deeper. I have no right calling myself your shield.”

“Gladio,” Ignis begins in his caring chastising voice, but Noct cuts him off.

“Yeah, you screwed up. You failed as my shield.” Gladio flinches at the words. “Good thing all I want right now is my friend.” He can feel the tension drain from him. “Can you just be Gladio and I just be Noct? At least for a little while?” It comes out weak.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds choked. He wishes he could see his face, but he can't so he closes his eyes.

Nothing has changed. He's still tired, oh so tired. Sleep still calls to him, but maybe the thoughts are quieter. As if someone else is taking the worst of them before they reach the surface.


End file.
